


A Train in the Distance

by elektrolokomotive



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, lots and lots of feelings, trains with feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elektrolokomotive/pseuds/elektrolokomotive
Summary: "The thought that life could be better is woven indelibly into our hearts and our brains."A 30-day challenge from discord.  Stories range from soft, meaningless fluff to some more melancholy rambling, all set to an autumn-flavored theme.
Relationships: Electra/Components, Electra/Greaseball
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. Nov 1 -- Frost

Taking extreme care not to wake Zenith, Electra slipped out from under the blankets and scooted to the end of the bed. The chill air made every inch of bare skin prickle as he reached for his skates. Light, colored pink by approaching dawn, slipped under the curtains and illuminated the room faintly. Electra let out a soft breath. For a moment, when he had opened his eyes, he had forgotten that he was not at Sunnyside. He had wondered at the draft on his face and the lack of a wakeup alarm, staring into the dimness. Then, he had inhaled a lungful of the crisp piney air and picked his head up, glancing around the sparse room and recalling where he was. Even the alpha’s quarters did not compare to his suite of rooms back home--here, there were no heated floors, no stylish furniture, no Leap and Moonie waiting for him in the commissary. If he wanted breakfast, he had to make it himself, and if he wanted a hot shower, there was a common washroom down the hall. 

Electra rose and rolled to his dresser, hurrying to locate a sweater in the gloom. He pulled it on, relishing the small reprieve from the cold it provided, and took a moment to glance over his shoulder at his sleeping family. The components, who had for years arranged themselves in the same calculated manner every night, had yielded to the new additions to their ranks. Greaseball was sprawled beside Purse; Electra had been opposite, cuddled under the big diesel’s arm, a few moments ago. The pair were flanked on either side by Volta and Joule. Wrench was behind Joule, and Zenith was nestled between Volta and Krupp, lost in dreamland. Smiling faintly, Electra sidled to the exit.

The corridor leading from Greaseball’s quarters to the common area was lined with doors, all of which let on to living spaces shared by the yard’s other occupants. Some, he knew, had already set out for the day’s work, tending the early morning commuter trains. He did not particularly envy them. Little about their job seemed glamorous, rising at this absurd hours to work for scant reward. This was just as well; it was clear that they did not envy his lifestyle, either.

There was a kitchen off the common area where Electra stopped to place a kettle on the stove. While he waited for it to boil, he leaned on the sill of the big window overlooking the yard beyond. The sky was a hazy purple, a smudge of magenta on the horizon. For now, the outbound tracks on the opposite side of the green were quiet. Rising in columns was a silky grey mist that the Sun would in time burn off. This is what a morning at California Avenue looked like--the same way, almost precisely, as it had looked 28 years ago, and presumably for a long time before that.

Electra let out a sigh that fogged the window. He realized that the grass of the green, which stretched out in a swath of deep emerald before him, was glittering. The burgeoning brightness of day found each blade of grass limbed with silver: the first frost. Electra saw that it was not just the grass, but every visible surface out there gilded with billions of gleaming crystals. Even the corners of the window he stood at were frosted with delicate arabesques. 

He stood for a moment transfixed by this beautiful scene until the kettle began to whistle. He tore himself away to pour a mug. He heaped in several spoonfuls of sugar, then stood in the threshold of the kitchen, contemplating the window. The sky beyond was growing pinker by the second. He glanced down the corridor to the front entrance, which let out onto the green. He considered heading back to Greaseball’s quarters, where the rest were undoubtedly beginning to rouse. But the image of the glittering grass and vibrant sky had become impressed upon his mind. He turned for the entrance, mug clutched to his chest.

Outside, the wind was sharp on his face. He inhaled deeply. The air smelled more intensely of pine, a clean scent that filled Electra instantly with a nostalgia the source of which he could not name. The sensation rose with such unexpected intensity in his chest that he teared up; his view of the green became a rose-tinged blur. He blinked several times, startled. In an attempt to calm himself, he sipped the tea and winced as it scalded his tongue.

A narrow path cut through the green. He followed it, the odd emotion still bubbling in his chest. Eventually, he stepped off the path and into the grass, which crunched under his wheels. He lowered himself at once, eager to return his attention to the sunrise.

Soft morning clouds drifted close to the horizon, deep violet and amber. By now, the Sun was making his entrance, a sliver of crimson haloed with yellow. Electra glanced around, and found these colors reflected by the ice crystals painting his surroundings. His eyes stung, and a hard lump had formed in his throat. He could do little but sip his tea, overwhelmed with that nameless emotion.

Time passed reliably. The disc of the Sun rose and grew golden; the world became a lurid sepia print. Electra sat still as a statue, as if the chill in the air had frozen him solid. His tea grew tepid, and then cold. At the distant back of his mind, he knew that the others would be wondering where he’d gone. But he did not move. He was, for the time, prisoner to the beauty of the sunrise, and the strange melancholy it had evoked in him. The glitter of the frost obscured his vision entirely.

“‘Lectra,” a voice at last cut through his trance-like state. “How long have you been out here?”

Electra shook himself from his reverie and looked around. Greaseball was standing on the path a few paces from him, watching him with uncharacteristic solemnity.

“I don’t know,” Electra answered softly. “I wanted to watch the sunrise.”

“You couldn’t have done that from inside? You’re gonna catch your death out here.”

Life returned to Electra’s body; he began to shiver. “Sorry,” he said, slowly getting to his feet. His limbs were stiff, aching. “I just needed some fresh air.”

Greaseball smiled sympathetically, reaching out to gather Electra into his arms as he neared. As always, the diesel gave off warmth like a furnace, a refuge from the bitter cold.

“Come on inside. Zeezee’s looking for breakfast.”

Electra wriggled an arm free and wiped away the moisture that had gathered in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Greaseball asked softly.

“Nothing,” Electra answered, then sighed and went on, “I don’t know. Everything looked so beautiful this morning.” Even as he spoke, scraps of the memory returned to him. Fresh tears sprang up, and this time he did not move to brush them away. He pressed his cheek to Greaseball’s warm chestplate and said, “It reminded me of my mother. We used to watch the sunrise together, when I was really little.”

Greaseball’s arms tightened around him, pressing them together with almost painful force. Electra did not protest; the strength of that embrace quelled a bit of the sorrow rising in his throat like bile.

“He always said,” the Racer murmured, making an active effort not to choke on his tears, “he always told me that autumn sunrises were the prettiest.”

Greaseball stroked his head. “It’s alright, Lex. You miss him, and you’re homesick.”

_ Am I?  _ Electra thought. It was not a thing he had registered on any conscious level, homesickness.  _ This is where I want to be, after all. What’s there to be sick about? _

“I miss Bailey sometimes,” Greaseball was saying. “I love it here, but Bailey’s where I was born. It’s where my parents are. And sometimes I want to go back.”

Electra sniffled, tucking his head under Greaseball’s chin. “I don’t want to go back to Sunnyside. All I could think about the whole time I was there was how much I wanted to leave. But it’s the last place I ever saw my mother.”

“I know. It’s no wonder you’re sad.”

He didn’t say anything else for a while. Electra swallowed several times, sniffling occasionally, and in the end succeeded at keeping sobs at bay. Eventually he wriggled, convincing Greaseball to release him, and stood wringing his hands.

“Let’s go in,” Greaseball said. “It’s too damn cold out here.”

Electra did not resist as Greaseball slung an arm over his shoulder and steered him back towards the engine house. He did, however, spare one last glance at the green. The rising Sun was beginning to drive back the frost, warm light melting the night’s frozen art away. But in the deeper shadows where morning had not yet reached, the ice remained.


	2. Nov 2 -- Fireside

All day, it had been blustery--not at all unusual for an early November day on Lake Michigan. But as evening fell on California Avenue, the winds rose to a howling crescendo, lashing the flanks of the engine house and whipping through the leafless trees outside. Listening to it roar and hiss, Electra was grateful for the warmth and shelter the engine house afforded. The common room was a bit drafty, and the frame of the structure groaned with each strong gust, but the fire in the huge central hearth was unfazed. 

The Racer basked in its warmth. He had spent the day on the green, looking after Zenith and the other youngsters of Cali Ave and shivering in the winds. When he had at last returned indoors, he was quick to take up a place between Purse and Joule on a chaise. There, warmed by the fire and his companions, he could forget the bone-chilling cold and doze peacefully.

But his rest did not go uninterrupted long. He was nudged to wakefulness by Wrench, who was standing over him with Zenith curled up in her arms. “Here you are,” she said. “Freshly bathed.”

Electra took Zenith readily into his lap. The baby pressed his head under Electra’s chin immediately, whirring in adoration. He disliked being parted from his mother even for the short time it took Wrench to bathe him. Now, his small, clever hands found the loose hair falling over Electra’s shoulder and stroked it as though it were a beloved pet. Electra rocked him gently, inhaling the mild scent of shampoo and the underlying ozonic tang typical of electrics. Zenith, for his part, was rapidly nodding. His head was a pleasant weight on Electra’s collarbone.

The front door of the engine house opened with a harsh creak that jerked Electra to wakefulness once more. He turned, watching as a group of carriages hurried in out of the cold, giggling amongst themselves. He glanced at the nearby window, finding that it was fully dark outside now--the evening trains were arriving home. The small group headed directly for the hearth. They were led by Buffy, who in Electra’s long absence had come to be a sort of unofficial captain to the carriages.

“Hey, Lex,” she said as the group approached. Ashley was, as always, close behind her. The rest were younger, less familiar to Electra. He smiled pleasantly at them all. At his chest, Zenith squirmed into a better position to survey at the newcomers. He was a curious child, and he liked nothing more than attention from any conceivable source. Buffy cooed at him as she settled in a nearby chair.

“It’s a cold one,” she said. “That wind is something.”

“I don’t envy you, darling,” Purse said, yawning. “There’s no place I’d rather be than right here by this fire.”

Ashley knelt on the floor in front of Electra to admire the Zenith. “Hi, Zeezee,” she said. “I bet you had a busy day.”

Zenith smiled coyly, chewing a hand.

Before long, the group gathered by the hearth had been joined by Belle and Pearl. Not long after them, Greaseball appeared with Tank in tow. Soon it seemed that any spirit not at work had come to settle by the big fire--that was the way of things, when it got cold. Nothing kept the bitterness of an approaching winter at bay like the warmth these gatherings provided. 

Electra found himself snug, with Greaseball at his feet and Krupp no more than arm’s length away, cuddling Joule. He stared into the fire flickering in the hearth and let out a soft breath. There was soft chatter, peppered with laughter and teasing. Belle produced a basket of fresh fruit to be passed among them.

Then, Tank said, “Any of you ever seen a rail grinder?”

Silence fell quickly. Electra perked up a bit, petting Zenith’s back. “You mean, in person?”

“Yeah. I never seen one. I reckon they’re not real.”

Purse snorted. “Of course they’re real.”

“You see one, Penny?”

Purse raised an eyebrow. “No. But I haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower either, and I know it’s real.”

“What’s a rail grinder?” Joule piped up.

“It’s a maintenance of way vehicle,” Belle replied. “Something the humans use to keep the tracks functional. But a lot of people think that the spirits who pilot them aren’t like us.”

The windowpanes rattled as she spoke, shaken by the high wind.

“What do you mean, not like us?” Greaseball asked, sitting up straight.

“Well, we come from elementals, of course. Earth spirits, fire spirits, lightning spirits, you know. All made for a purpose. But some people--and I’m not saying whether I believe them--think that the rail grinders come from something else.”

Electra barely resisted rolling his eyes. He was keen on what Belle was doing; he had himself heard stories of the maintenance of way vehicles and summarily dismissed them as childish tall tales. But everyone else around the fire, it seemed, was enraptured.

“What do they come from, Belle?” Joule asked. Her eye were wide and dark in the firelight.

Belle paused for a moment to pop a grape into her mouth. “I don’t know for sure,” she said at length. “I’ve never seen one myself. But if you go and ask Poppa, he can tell you some stories.”

Pearl caught Electra’s eye. She was smirking slightly, clearly having heard this kind of talk before.

“Poppa’s got  _ lots  _ of stories,” Greaseball said. “Not all of them true.”

Belle fixed him with a cold look. Then, returning her attention to her story, she said, “He’s seen a few of them face-to-face. He says they’re not like anything you’ve ever seen.” She paused for dramatic effect; everyone was silent. “He reckons they come from the wild spirits. Those type that live in the deep, dark parts of the world and who the Starlight does not shine on. He said they’ve got that look.”

Beside Electra, Joule swallowed audibly. Reflexively he reached to take her hand, gentle and reassuring.

“Why would anybody use the wild spirits for work?” Tank asked.

“Beats me,” Belle said. “I don’t think it’s any work a steamer couldn’t do. But Poppa saw what he saw.”

“What do they look like?” Buffy spoke now, for the first time since Belle had begun her story. She didn’t strike Electra as the superstitious type, but her face had grown rather wan.

“Big,” Belle asked. “Bigger than any of us. And real ugly. They walk on all fours and have big, red eyes. Some say they breath fire.”

“But they’re harmless, right?” Joule asked. “Why else would they be allowed to run an engine?”

Belle shrugged. “I know people who have seen whole forests go up in flames because of them. They leave destruction in their wake.”

Electra sighed softly, leaning back against Purse. “You don’t believe any of this, do you?” He whispered.

Purse shook his head, but he didn’t smile. “I’ve never seen one either, Lex.”

“They live in abandoned yards with the other maintenance of way vehicles,” Belle was saying, “and sleep all year, until they get woken up to do their work. That way they don’t run wild and out of control.”

“Lucky there’s none of those yards around here,” Pearl said with an air of exaggerated worry. “We’d really be in trouble.”

“I haven’t told you the worst part about those spirits yet,” Belle went on, ignoring Pearl. “There’s something terrible about them, that makes everyone so afraid.”

She took another pregnant pause, looking around at all the gathered faces turned towards her. With a solemn smile she said, “They eat other spirits. Little ones, the kind that are easy to catch. Gobble them right up.”

The silence that followed this statement was deafening. The very concept was outlandish to the rail-folk; to harm a fellow spirit was not in their nature. Electra glanced around at his companions and found all of them, save Pearl, pale and wide-eyed.

A gust of wind picked up, slipping through an open window somewhere and slamming a door like a clap of thunder. The entire party started visibly. Belle, clearly delighted at this good timing, burst into peels of laughter.

“Starlight,” Purse breathed. “I thought my heart stopped for a second.”

Electra allowed himself to roll his eyes at last, giving Zenith--who had been awakened with a start by the slam--a gentle bounce.

“Aren’t you at least a little scared?” Greaseball asked, tipping his head back to smirk at Electra.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Racer replied. “I worked for the Racing Commission for more than 30 years. Nothing scares me.”


	3. Nov 3 -- Sweater

Electra turned in a graceful circle, relishing the effortless motion. He had done it a million times; one arm swept out to propel him forward, then tucked in close to his side. All his weight came down on his front wheels and he spun, a whirl of vibrant color. He loved this moment; it was freeing, exhilarating, and always over too quickly. 

“Alright, alright,” said Greaseball as Electra came to a halt, laying propped up on his elbows. “You look good.”

Electra beamed. He planted a hand on his hip and posed, working his angles. He had posed for enough photoshoots and modeled enough of racing’s latest fashion to be well-practiced in the art. He turned away from Greaseball, looking coyly over his shoulder and fluttering his eyelashes. Greaseball grinned. “What else do you want me to say?” He sat up all the way, scratching his neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Just reminding you.” Electra smoothed the fabric of the sweater over his hip, glancing down to admire the sharp angle of his back. He had put on a bit of weight since moving to Cali Ave, but that did not displease him in the least--being underweight for so long had not suited him. Now the hard, unyielding muscle of his waist and bottom had given way somewhat to fat; Greaseball loved to gently pinch him when they passed. It made a fine sight in the mirror above his dresser.

“Purse made this,” Electra went on, taking the hem of the garment between his fingers. “Did I mention that already?”

Greaseball raised an eyebrow. “Made it? How?”

“He knitted it. You know, with needles and yarn?” Giving up his posing at last, Electra came to perch on the edge of the bed beside Greaseball. “I’ll have him knit you one. You’re going to need to keep warm on this tour of yours.”

The diesel grinned, leaning in to plant a wet kiss on Electra’s cheek. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m used to the cold.”

Electra turned to kiss him in return, this time fully on the mouth. Immediately, Greaseball’s hand came to rest on his waist, calloused palm catching in the satiny wool.

“Damn, that’s soft,” he said as the kiss broke.

“Purse only uses the finest wools. He knitted all our baby blankets, too.”

Greaseball gathered a handful of the material, tugging it gently.

“Leave it,” Electra said. “You’ll rip it!”

“I will not. I’m being careful.”

Electra pressed himself backwards into Greaseball’s chest, letting his breath out. “I think you’d look handsome,” he said. “I’ll tell Purse to start something heavy… maybe cable-knit. I think you’d look good in burgundy.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not. But there’s lots of things I don’t  _ have  _ to do. He’s bored out of his mind, anyway.”

Electra planted one final kiss on Greaseball’s jaw, then sprung to his feet. “Anyway, I promised Purse I’d show it off to the girls. He was telling them all about his stitches and purls and all that. I don’t know what any of it means.”

“I’ll come.”

Electra gave Greaseball an arch look as the diesel rose, his hand finding the back of Electra’s sweater once more.

Together, they left the alpha’s quarters behind and made their way to the common room. A group of carriages and engines, off of work for the day, were lazing about in the pools of sunshine coming through the high windows. Electra left Greaseball behind, weaving among them in a manner calculated to draw their eye.

“Wow, Lex,” said one of the younger engines, Jeneva. “Purse made that for you?”

Electra balanced on one stop, his hips cocked. “All by himself. It’s really something, right?”

He wasn’t exaggerating--Purse had outdone himself with this garment. It was a cherry-red cape crafted from thick yarn soft enough to sleep in. He had come through after with a heavy silver thread and embroidered tiny lightning bolts along the hem. It served the dual purpose of complimenting Electra’s figure and keeping him warm in the increasingly cold temperatures.

“It’s beautiful,” said a carriage named Georgia. “Can I feel?”

Electra approached, sweeping his arm grandly outward to afford Georgia the best view. She stroked the downy wool and gave an awed murmur.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Electra said. “He’s had years of practice, after all.”

“Do you think he’d make me one?”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted. The poor thing needs something to occupy his time, after all.”

When he had been admired to his satisfaction, Electra returned to Greaseball. “See,” he said as he approached, “you’d better let me ask Purse for you now. Soon he’s gonna be busy with all these other requests.”

Greaseball shrugged, reaching up to stroke the high collar of Electra’s sweater while an odd, almost wistful expression fell over his handsome face. Electra, of course, recognized the look. Greaseball had finished admiring the sweater and had moved on to wanting it off Electra. His warm fingers slid under the collar, along Electra’s neck. Electra tried and failed to suppress a shudder.

“Let’s talk about it back in the room,” Greaseball said. “And why don’t you invite Purse? I bet he’ll want to be in on the conversation.”

Electra smirked. “I’m sure he wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	4. Nov 4 -- Endearment

“Move, you clumsy idiot, you’re on my hair.”

Greaseball was awakened by Electra’s elbow in his side, sharp and insistent. He grunted, momentarily bewildered.

“I said  _ move _ , you ass,” Electra hissed, pushing him again.

“Alright, alright,” Greaseball said, shifting his weight. “Take it easy, brat.”

Electra sat up, looking rather pained, and began smoothing the tangle of frizz that was his hair. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” Greaseball answered. “Don’t hog all the pillows next time.”

Around them, the components--all fast asleep a moment prior--had begun to stir and grumble. Greaseball apologized softly while Electra continued to fuss over his hair. Zenith, awakening faithfully at the sound of his mother’s voice, had crawled across Purse and was now perched beside Greaseball, watching him expectantly.

“Hi, baby,” the diesel said softly. “Sorry to wake you.”

Zenith was obviously unbothered; he smiled sweetly and twiddled his fingers. As Electra came to settle down, he said, “Oh, Zee, it’s not breakfast time. Go back to sleep, now.”

Zenith twisted to gaze at Electra, his wide silver eyes glittering with adoration as always. Electra scooped him up and nuzzled him, drawing a delighted giggle from the child. Then, he was settling down once more, letting out an enormous sigh. He extended one arm to drape over Greaseball, creating a snug place between them for Zenith to nestle into.

“Sorry about your hair,” Greaseball whispered, admiring Electra’s tawny face in the dim light of very early morning. “You’ve just got me confused is all. Usually you like when I pull it.”

—

The pond by the freight yard had frozen solid overnight. It was as smooth and transparent as a windowpane; the muddy, reed-choked depths of the water were held in suspended animation. This, for one reason or another, was a point of intense fascination for the bachelors in the freight yard. They stood on the banks in a loose semi-circle, taking turns peering at their reflections in the ice, or venturing a few steps onto the slick surface to see how long they could hold their balance. Greaseball, approaching as the sun rose over the roof of the engine house, was rather dismayed to find his son among them.

_ Disappointed _ , he thought,  _ but not surprised. _

Arc was the unofficial leader of the freight gang--he was carrying on Greaseball’s legacy, in that regard. The others, even his elders, idolized him for the arrogant, swaggering manner he had inherited, and maybe in a lesser measure for his good looks. It certainly wasn’t his brains. As Greaseball watched, Arc skated out to the center of the pond in a show of daring, maintaining balance for a few breathless seconds before falling hard onto his backside. There was a chorus of laughter from his subordinates; Greaseball himself could not resist a chuckle.

As Arc gathered himself, he noticed his father at last. He scrambled hurriedly to the edge of the pond. “Dad,” he said when he had returned to dry land. “What brings you here?”

“There’s a train due to go out in about an hour. Southbound. I want you get a team together and take care of it.”

“Can do.” Arc was doing his best to look sober and professional, despite the muffled giggling from his onlookers. He held Greaseball’s eye for a moment before at last shying away, rubbing his backside.

“You oughta be careful on that ice,” Greaseball said. “Can’t have my number one freighter down and out.”

“Sorry, Dad.” Arc scrubbed his fingers in his hair, sheepish. “How’s Electra?”

“Settling in,” Greaseball replied. “He’s a real pain in my ass, that one.”

“Well, we all knew that, though. He’s always been… particular.”

Greaseball raised an eyebrow. “You watch how you talk about your momma. I get to call him a spoiled brat, not you.”

Arc looked uncomfortable for as long as it took to realize that his father was having fun with him.

“You’d be lucky,” Greaseball went on, reaching out to clasp Arc’s shoulder, “to get a mate half as fancy as Lex. He may be a pest, but I put up with it because he’s the sweetest thing I ever met. And I get my dues for it. That’s my little prince, see?”

“Gross,” Arc replied, grinning.

—

Volta held Electra’s right hand in hers, examining his nails. “What color do you want this time?” She asked.

“Just a clear coat,” Electra replied, fiddling with a stray lock of crimson hair. “GB likes them better natural.”

He was not looking at Volta, but he immediately sensed her eyes on him. He glanced her way and found her, as he expected, incredulous.

“ _ What? _ ” He asked, returning his attention to his hair.

“Nothing, El, I just never thought I’d live to see the day you let a man decide your nail color.”

Electra smirked. “It’s just this one time. I figure I owe it to him for yelling at him this morning.”

Across the room by the window, Joule giggled. “You were really cussing him out before he woke up. I haven’t heard you call him  _ motherfucker _ in ages.”

Electra shrugged. “You all know how sensitive my hair is.” He pouted for a moment longer before saying, “I should really apologize. I know it hurts his feelings when I’m so mean to him.”

Volta rolled her eyes.

“I mean it. I should never yell. He’s my big smelly baby, after all.” He pursed his lips and affected a cooing tone. “I just wuv him so much.”

Joule burst into giggles while Volta feigned a gag. “ _ Gross. _ ”

—

After dinner, Electra found himself in his usual spot—crammed happily between Purse and Joule on their chaise. Greaseball had been out all day, a good indicator that his feelings had been well and truly hurt. So when he entered at last, Electra was quick to detangle himself from his protesting companions and hurry to his side.

“Hi, baby,” he said in dulcet tones. “Look.”

He extended a hand, which Greaseball studied with the intensity of one examining a precious stone. After a moment he said, “What am I looking at?”

“My nails, darling. They’re nice and plain, just the way you like them. Volta wanted silver glitter, but I know you prefer them like this.”

Greaseball took the proffered hand gently into his own, kissing the knuckles. “Well, that was mighty thoughtful of you, sweetheart.”

Electra preened. “Sorry for yelling this morning. I know you were probably thinking about it all day.”

Greaseball looked noncommittal. “Not really.”

“Anyway, I thought we could cuddle. I’ve been cold all day.”

“Anything for you, honey. Anything for you.”


	5. Nov 5 -- Supper

Electra was very happy to hear that Dinah would be visiting Cali Ave. She had been away since before his arrival, having settled down with the leader of another nearby yard. The news has reached Cali Ave a few weeks prior that Dinah and this new beau of hers had welcomed a child. In a show of neighborliness--and perhaps to prove that he did not harbor any ill will towards his former partner--Greaseball had invited the pair of them for supper. Dinah, by the sound of things, had happily agreed. Quickly, preparations were underway for a proper celebratory feast, and Electra was invited to take part.

“I’m no good at cooking,” he told Buffy when she had called him to the kitchen. “You’ll want Krupp for that. I can make up the table, or make drinks.”

Buffy rolled her eyes good-naturedly and conceded to this. Electra, taking Joule with him, set off for the storeroom where the fleet’s seasonal decor was kept. There were boxes of ribbons and string lights for the Solstice, but that was more than a month away. Instead, he the pair dug out a lacy tablecloth and what passed for fancy place settings: copper bowls and utensils, an array of chipped and dusty glasses, and some well-creased napkins. Electra wrinkled his nose. “Well, we’ll have to look into replacing these,” he told Joule. “It’s the least we can do.”

There was an enormous wooden banquet table, usually kept off to the side in the common room, that Greaseball and Tank dragged to the center of the hall. Electra threw the tablecloth over it, fussing with the tears and pulled stitches as he did. He counted out the place settings--there were enough for 16 places, plenty for Greaseball’s inner circle and their guests. When Electra had arranged them to his liking, actually managing to pull off something rather elegant, he made his way to the kitchen.

It was bustling, Buffy leading a small team of coaches--and the notable addition of Krupp--in making a meal large enough to feed the fleet. A feast of this magnitude was uncommon, as most typically took care of their own meals on a day-to-day basis. Nonetheless, Buffy seemed to have a handle on things.

“Hiya, Lex,” she said as she caught sight of Electra. “Got everything set up?”

“Yes. I was just coming to pick up Zenith.”

Zenith was sitting on a low stool by the window, gnawing steadily on a crabapple. He beamed at the sight of Electra.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up for Auntie Dinah.”

Zenith did not protest, waving goodbye to the busy cooks as Electra lifted him onto his shoulder.

“Dinah’s bringing her new baby to meet us,” Electra told him when they were back in the alpha’s quarters. “Are you going to behave?”

He hardly needed to ask; Zenith was as docile and mild-mannered as children his age came.

Electra fixed his own hair and applied a bit of makeup, then picked out the finest of his sweaters to put on. He dressed Zenith in a fur-lined wrap and a knitted hat, then as an afterthought tied a silky ribbon around his neck. He held the baby up to the mirror so he could admire his reflection. Zenith tugged a hand free of his wrap to lay on the glass, smiling enormously at himself.

There was a gentle knock on the door. It opened slightly, and Greaseball peeked in. “Di’s here,” he said. “You wanna come with me to meet her?”

“Of course.”

With Zenith on his hip, Electra followed Greaseball out to the green. Evening was falling by now, and the overcast day had given way to one last hour of golden sunshine. Approaching from the opposite side of the green was a small group led by Arc. Dustin and CB were flanking the newcomers: Dinah, tiny and all but glowing in the luster of dusk, and a large diesel fellow unrecognized to Electra. As they approached, Electra looked to Greaseball to find him beaming.

“Howdy,” he said while Arc stepped out of his way.

Dinah, holding a small bundle to her breast, returned his gleeful expression. “Grease,” she said. “I’m so happy to see you.” She turned and motioned with her free hand to her male companion. “This is DeBolt. I think you two know each other.”

DeBolt was the leader of the 14th Street yard, Cali Ave’s closest neighbor to the south. He was older than Greaseball, with a broad, tanned face and silver hair. He had an air of austerity that commanded a respectful approach. Greaseball inclined his head duly.

“It was kind of you to invite us,” DeBolt said. “We’re always happy to share a meal with our neighbors.”

Dinah’s eyes had found Electra. “Lex! Hi, sweetie,” She exclaimed at once, beckoning him closer. Electra rolled to her side, bouncing Zenith gently. Dinah shifted the bundle in her arms, saying, “I wanted you all to meet Cherry. She’s just a week old.”

The infant was precisely the chubby-cheeked, blonde-haired cherub Electra had expected. She was fast asleep, one hand tucked under her face. Electra smiled indulgently and said, “She’s gorgeous, Di.”

“This must be your little fella,” Dinah replied, scrunching her nose affectionately at Zenith. Zenith batted his eyelashes and reached up to play with his hair. “Gee, Lex, he looks just like you.”

“Let’s head inside,” Greaseball said. “Dinner should be almost ready.” He motioned for the freight team, who had been respectfully silent. “You, too. I’m sure you’ve all been missing Dinah.”

Taking his cue, CB sidled up to Dinah and linked his arm with hers, leaning in to admire Cherry. Electra watched him carefully.

Back inside the engine house. Buffy and her team had begun to lay the fruit of their labor out to be eaten. Greaseball guided their guests to the head of the table. As they took their seats, DeBolt turned to Electra.

“I hope I’m not being rude, but what’s a pair of Racers doing here?” He asked. “We’re a long way from a racetrack.”

“I’m retired,” Electra answered, smiling. “I had a bad fall and got hurt, so I called it quits early. I came here because of Greaseball.” He looked tenderly at his partner, who was chatting with Arc and CB.

“And how about you, little fella?” DeBolt was addressing Zenith now. “Are you gonna grow up to be like your mother?”

Zenith simply smiled.

“He doesn’t talk,” Electra explained. “We’re not sure why.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Dinah said. “Some just take a little longer, that’s all. I remember Arc being a little behind.”

Electra felt oddly reassured by this statement. He was not particularly concerned about Zenith’s apparent delay; Wrench had told him in no uncertain terms that she did not believe there to be anything wrong with the child. But Dinah, who had all but raised Arc and knew Electra’s children nearly as well as he did, smiled soothingly as she went on, “Maybe he’s just a bit hard of hearing.”

Electra glanced to Zenith, who was watching DeBolt with his characteristic rapt fascination. He had not considered this, but given Zenith’s unusual tolerance for loud sounds, it made sense.

Electra gazed fondly at Dinah from across the table for a while. “You’ll be around, right?” He asked at length.

“Of course,” Dinah said. “Just call me if you need anything.”

Warmed by her words, Electra let out a soft breath and turned his attention to the meal.


	6. Nov 6 -- Kettle

At Dinah’s suggestion, Electra had insisted that Wrench examine Zenith once more. The medic put the child through a few simple tasks--checking his inner ears, testing his reaction times, watching his response to certain sounds--and came to the conclusion that Zenith had a significant hearing impairment. He seemed to be totally deaf in his right ear, and most likely partially deaf in the left. He could hear enough that Electra’s voice close to his ear made him giggle, and a book being dropped on the floor startled him, but he did not respond to his name, or seem to hear any conversation around him.

“I should have noticed it sooner,” Electra said. “No wonder he can’t talk.”

Wrench shook her head. “It’s not always easy to tell, Electra. At any rate, I suspect that a hearing aid would be invaluable to him.”

“Do you think this will keep him from racing?” Electra asked this not without a little hope.

“I doubt it. To my knowledge, there are a few Racers with hearing loss in the league.”

Electra was left with plenty to think about. He carried Zenith on his hip from their quarters to the kitchen area. He filled the kettle and set it on the stove, humming quietly as he did.

“We’ll get you a hearing aid,” he said, raising his voice intentionally. “And we can all learn sign language.”

Zenith cocked his head, watching Electra carefully. Electra’s heart twinged.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still speaking loudly. “All this time I’ve been talking to you, and you couldn’t hear me.”

He sat heavily at the table by the window, tears welling in his eyes. Zenith, sensing his mother’s distress, buzzed quietly and tucked his head under Electra’s chin. Electra sniffled.

“Lex.”

Electra looked up. Greaseball was standing in the doorway, watching him hesitantly.

“G,” Electra replied, making an effort to keep his voice from quavering. “What is it?”

“Wrench just told me.” He rolled to the table and sat opposite Electra. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just feel bad that I didn’t realize.”

Greaseball smiled at Zenith, who was watching him with adoring eyes. “He’s gonna be okay. We’ll take care of him.”

Electra nodded, dabbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The kettle began to whistle; Electra handed Zenith to Greaseball and went to fetch it. He opened the cabinet where he had stashed his collection of teas and selected a soothing chamomile blend. As he returned to the table, mug in hand, Greaseball said, “What is that smelly stuff you’re always drinking?”

“ _ Tea? _ ” Electra replied, almost incredulous. “You’ve never heard of tea?”

“‘Course I have. But the stuff you’re drinking doesn’t smell like any tea I’ve seen.”

Electra smiled faintly. “That’s because you’ve been drinking that glorified sugar water you all like so much. This is real tea.”

“What’s the difference?”

Electra pushed the mug across the table towards Greaseball. “Just taste it.”

“Tell me what’s in it first. I don’t wanna drink nothing weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s just flowers.”

With visible hesitation, Greaseball lifted the mug to his mouth. He immediately flinched and said, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Electra almost told him to watch his mouth in front of the baby. Then, at a delay, he said, “What did you think I boiled the water for, dumbass?”

Greaseball took another hesitant sip. Then he frowned. “That doesn’t taste like anything, Lex.”

Electra rolled his eyes, but smiled indulgently. “You can’t taste anything because you just boiled your tastebuds off. And it’s not full of sugar.”

“So you just drink this flower water all the time? Doesn’t that get boring?”

“I have a lot of flavors. Look.” Electra returned to the cabinet, and this time returned with the entire box of tea. He set it down in front of Greaseball and began to rifle through it.

“They’re all herbal teas,” he said, “because I can’t have anything with caffeine. I’ll give myself a heart attack.”

Greaseball peered into the box, eyebrow raised. “What do they all taste like?”

Electra selected a foil packet. “This is mint and cocoa. I don’t like it, but Purse drinks it when he’s out of coffee.”

“Sounds gross.”

Electra picked up another. “This is a berry blend. You’d probably like it, because it’s sweet.”

Zenith reached out with an inquisitive hand. Electra gave him the packet to contemplate while he continued, “Here’s my favorite. Vanilla and spice. I usually drink it in the mornings.”

Greaseball took the packet and sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”

“It’s wrapped in foil. Give it to me.”

Electra fetched another mug, dropping the teabag in and filling it to the brim with the remaining water. Then he set it in front of Greaseball.

“Leave it for a minute,” he instructed. “It has to steep.”

“And then I just… drink it?”

“Are you being thick on purpose?”

Greaseball furrowed his brow. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Yes, darling, you drink it. It’s delicious.”

Electra returned the tea box to its cabinet, then sat opposite Greaseball once more. He looked to his child, sitting in the diesel’s lap and watching the adults with rapt interest. Greaseball was staring into the mug as if it contained the secrets of the universe, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips.

“You can drink it now,” Electra said after what seemed an eternity of silence.

Again, Greaseball gave the mug a cautious sniff before bringing it to his lips. This time, he was more careful of the scalding liquid.

Electra sat awaiting his response as he swallowed and contemplated a moment. At length he said, “Not bad. I still don’t think it’s real tea. But it’s not bad.”

Electra laughed. When he looked to Zenith once more, the baby’s eyes were on him, and he was smiling too.


	7. Nov 7 -- Forage

Electra had contented himself with spending the afternoon as he usually did: lounging on the green while the fleet’s youngest members played and pestered him for snacks. This was where he felt most useful, after all. He couldn’t be much help in the kitchen, and he was far from able to manage a train, so he gladly took up the task of babysitting. The weather was still agreeable, and this gave Zenith the opportunity to play in the company of those his own age. Electra found a spot on the grass with a good view of the children and settled down, ready to sunbathe a while.

Greaseball, however, had other ideas. Only fifteen minutes had passed before he had appeared on the path leading from the engine house, heading towards Electra. As he neared, he raised a hand to beckon his partner. Electra sighed.

“What is it, darling?”

“Prairie is gonna take over for you, watching the kids,” Greaseball replied. “I’m taking you and Zenith out.”

Electra sat up, glancing at the handful of youngsters playing with a ball in the grass. Prairie was the mother of one of the others, a female yearling called Hadleigh who Zenith enjoyed the company of. “She doesn’t mind?”

“No, she owes me the favor anyway. I’ll get Zenith.”

Zenith protested mildly at being suddenly scooped up, letting out a soft hiss. When he realized who had lifted him, however, he quickly turned to purrs and smiles. Electra got to his feet, internally lamenting the chill breeze that ruffled his hair.

“Where are we going?” He asked as Greaseball returned to the path, Zenith perched on his shoulder.

“I wanted to bring Zenith berry-picking. He’s never been.”

“You mean  _ wild _ berries? What’s wrong with the ones that grow here?”

“What’s the fun in that?”

They made their way from the green to the northwest, leaving the most populated part of the yard behind. Out here was mostly overgrown grass and little-used storage sheds--and of course some of the lesser creatures that made their home on the fleet’s land. Many other kinds of spirits chose to take shelter with the rail-folk, often providing resources in exchange for protection. That said, they were shy and usually remained hidden.

At the limits of the yard, Greaseball stopped for a moment. “Stay close,” he told Electra. “We’re heading for a… less civilized area.”

Electra shrugged. “It can’t be any less civilized than the freight yard.”

They passed by a few dry, seemingly lifeless areas where brown, dry earth and still air predominated. Electra hurried to stay at Greaseball’s side. Then, they crossed a few deserted streets and came, at last, to what Electra presumed to be their destination: a small field of green grass and healthy-looking shrubs, some of which were still clinging to the remnants of their late autumn fruit. Electra turned to raise an eyebrow at Greaseball. “This is what you pulled me away from sunbathing for?”

“Be patient, Lex.”

They did not stop in the field, but rather followed a narrow path that wove through it to a dense wall of overgrown hedgerows. There was a small passage at the base, which Greaseball made directly for. He paused a moment to hand Zenith to Electra before fairly squeezing himself through it. Somewhat hesitantly, Electra followed.

On the other side of the hedgerow was a stretch of land so unexpectedly green and verdant that Electra was given pause. They were in the middle of Chicago, after all; he had not anticipated the lush glen before him. The trio stood at the edge of a field ringed with trees, some of which were clinging to their red-and-golden raiment even this late in the season. Beneath them, the underbrush was heavy and green, untouched by frost.

“This is Humboldt Park,” Greaseball was saying, clearly pleased at the awe on Electra’s face. “I’ve been coming here every year since I moved to Cali Ave. This ain’t even all of it, either.”

Electra let Zenith down. He was fairly steady on his wheels and proceeded along the path at Greaseball’s feet. He was clearly as enchanted by this place as Electra, gazing around in wide-eyed wonder.

“Come on, bud,” Greaseball said, beckoning the child onward. “Let’s find some berries.”

Electra followed a few paces behind them, content to watch as Greaseball guided Zenith to a large bush covered with fat reddish berries. The diesel knelt, resting one hand on the child’s shoulder and speaking close to his ear. Zenith reached out with one cautious hand to pluck a berry, which he stood silently considering for a moment. Then, he proffered it to Greaseball, who grinned. Electra smiled to himself.

The trio spent a few hours picking over the berry bushes and exploring the park. Eventually, Greaseball had collected several pocketfuls of the fruits. Zenith was beginning to look sleepy, coming to Electra’s side and reaching up, asking to be lifted. Electra gathered him up, peppering his warm face with kisses.

“Ready to head back?” Greaseball asked.

Electra nodded. “This one needs a nap. Thanks for showing us this place.”

Greaseball shrugged. “No problem. I figured if you’re gonna live with us now, I’d better start showing you some of our traditions.”

They started on the path back to the yard. As then went, Electra contemplated. “You know,” he said eventually, “I’m glad that Zenith isn’t going to grow up at Sunnyside.”

“Yeah?” Greaseball replied.

“We never had anything like this there. It was all training or racing or shows all the time. I never really got the chance to be a kid.”

Greaseball gave him a sympathetic smile. “Well, you’ve got that chance now. I’m gonna make sure you and Zeezee both have a good time.”

“Thank you.” Electra rolled close to Greaseball and took his hand, weaving their fingers together, and they continued home.


	8. Nov 8 -- Moonlight

The moon rose over Cali Ave, a waxing gibbous so huge and golden that it cast a peculiar coppery glow over the yard, leaving it dreamlike. The day had been unseasonably warm, leaving behind a haze that rose ghostly from the earth. Beyond, stars were twinkling in the millions, dewdrops on a vast black canvas. Electra, having paused at the window, admired the sight inwardly.

“Are you coming?” Volta said, wresting Electra from his revery. “I’m only halfway through your makeup.”

Electra returned to the mirror, seating himself on the low bench before it to afford Volta the best view of his face. It had been a while since she had had an excuse to paint his face--he didn’t race anymore, after all. So she was relishing the opportunity, and taking her time with the details.

Tonight was a night Electra had looked forward to all week. Buffy, Ashley, and Pearl had asked him and his female companions out for the evening, to a few of their favorite haunts in the city. Electra had jumped at the chance, and so had Volta and Joule. Wrench had politely declined, content with babysitting Zenith.

“It’ll be fun,” Ashley had said. “We’ll have a few drinks, maybe a bite to eat. Then we can do some sight-seeing.”

Electra had not seen much of the city yet. He loved to explore, but he had found himself busy with Zenith or tending his other duties every day so far. This was an exciting chance.

“There,” Volta said, putting the finishing touch on his eyeliner. “You look amazing.”

Electra conferred with his reflection. It was almost strange to see himself in the makeup after all this time; he pursed his lips attractively and said, “Perfect, as always.”

He dressed while Volta did her own makeup. He was grateful for the warm weather; now he didn’t have to bundle up. He chose a glittery red tunic with a silver sash, then went to find Joule.

He did not need to look far; Joule was already in the common area, having met with the trio of coaches. They were all done up in their finest, hair coifed and eyes painted. They collectively beamed at him.

“Hi, girls,” he said. “Volta will be along in a minute.”

The next person to appear, however, was Krupp. Electra turned to the group and said, “I hope none of you mind if Krupp tags along. I don’t go anywhere without him.”

Buffy shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“We’ll all feel a little safer,” Pearl said.

At last, Volta joined them. Electra remarked inwardly on the difference in fashion sensibilities between his crew and the Cali Ave girls. It was all glitter and sleek hairstyles versus frills, floral prints, and updos. He wondered how exactly this night would play out.

“There’s a nice bar we go to sometimes,” Buffy said as she led the way from the engine house into the crisp evening. “I’m sure it’s nothing like what you lot are used to.”

They left Cali Ave behind and headed south, past a large scrap yard and into the no man’s land between Cali Ave and 14th Street. Here, shops and eateries had cropped up between human settlements and stretches of street. In the daytime, Electra would not have given the safety of the place a second thought, but under the cover of night, he was glad to have Krupp a few paces behind him.

Buffy led them unerringly to a hole-in-the-wall establishment, at the front of which a few road-folk were smoking. The acrid smell of their cigars burned Electra’s eyes.

The inside of the bar was no prettier than the outside. It was dimly lit and reeked of stale spirits; as the group settled, Electra found the bar sticky.

The barkeep grinned at the sight of the Cali Ave girls. “Ashley, Buffy,” he said, “good to see you. Who’re your friends?” Electra could see him attempting not to stare, rather unsuccessfully.

“This is Pearl, Poppa’s daughter. She’s never been out with us before. And this is Electra—”

“The Racer,” the barkeep interrupted. “I thought so.”

Electra lowered his eyes, feeling atypically self-conscious.

“What’ll you all have?”

“The usual for Buffy and I,” Ashley replied. “Get Pearl a bellini. She’s still new to this.”

“And for our esteemed guests?”

Electra considered the chipped linoleum countertop. “Cosmo,” he said at length. “Straight up.”

Joule attempted to order a White Russian; Volta hissed and said, “No coffee, Joule. You know how you get.”

“Anything for your guy friend?” The bartender asked.

“No,” Electra answered, “Krupp never drinks on the job.”

As soon as their drinks had been served, Buffy, Ashley, and Pearl turned to Electra. He could tell before any of them spoke that they had been waiting all day to say this.

“So,” Ashley said, between sips of straight scotch, “you and Greaseball are gonna have another baby, right?”

Electra was rather taken aback at the question. “Er,” he began, “maybe eventually.”

“We don’t want to rush you, sweetie,” Buffy said at once. “It’s just, Greaseball’s been waiting  _ ages _ .”

“I know, I know. I’m sure he’s desperate to have another one. But I’ve already had  _ three _ . And Zenith is only a year and a half old.”

“Wrench will kill Greaseball if he knocks Electra up again,” Joule cut in. “Right?”

Electra nodded, pressing his lips together.

“What’s the matter, Lex?” Pearl asked. “You look a little sick.”  
“It’s nothing. It just stinks in here.”

When they finished their drinks, Buffy paid their tab and moved them along. By now, it was profoundly dark outside, only the moon’s glow and the sparse, flickering street lamps making navigation possible. Electra’s fingers were tingling, but he was eager for another drink.

“There’s a newer bar a few blocks over,” Ashley said. “That might be a little more to your liking, Lex.”

They made their way there. It proved to be more of a nightclub than a bar; even down the street, the bass of the music they were playing could be felt in the chest.

“Ash was right, El,” Volta said. “This  _ is  _ more your style.”

The entrance of the club was little more than a bulkhead guarded by a mean-looking car spirit. When even the fearless Buffy faltered, Electra sidled his way to the front of the group.

“Hi,” he said, affecting sweetness. “We’re looking for the source of that music.”

The bouncer took only a moment to lighten up, smirking at Electra and opening the door for them.

The room they descended into was lit only by a handful of colored bulbs and strobe lights. The music was fairly deafening, and at the center of the room, a meager dance floor was crowded with bodies.

Electra made a beeline for the bar. He had to shout over the music, but his drink was served in a glass bowl garnished with a glowstick. It was strong and heady.

As he sought a place to sit, Joule and Pearl close behind him, he heard even over the music the unmistakable phrase:  _ Check it out, a Racer _ .

He was struck momentarily with a paralyzing kind of self-awareness. He glanced back at his companions, seeing them as though for the first time. Ashley and Buffy were holding drinks above their heads to avoid having them jostled by the tight crowd, looking less than at home. Pearl was small and frail in the dimness. 

_ We’re nothing alike at all _ , he thought, chewing his lip. He was a washed-up celebrity living in a work yard, not to work, but to laze about all day and fuck Greaseball at night. The trio who had invited him out had spent their day doing what they, as a species, were meant for.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” Electra said as the trio reached him. “I know I’ve probably been driving all of you crazy since I got here. I wish I wasn’t such a burden.”

Buffy smiled blithely at him and said, “I can’t hear you, sweetie. Do you wanna dance?”

Electra glanced at the crowded dance floor and the strobing lights, then back to the still-smiling Buffy. “Yes,” he said. “That would be great.”


	9. Nov 9 & 10 -- Glimmer/Familiar

At just after sunrise, Greaseball shook Electra gently awake and said, “Hey, baby, get up. Mercury’s here.”

For a moment, Electra’s drowsy brain did not process the statement. He murmured and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head.

There was a brief silence before Greaseball again prodded his partner. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s Mercury!”

At last, the words triggered a reasonable thought in Electra’s brain. He sat bolt upright, his head all but colliding with Greaseball’s. He looked around, half in a panic, to find himself alone in the bed. The components had already risen and gone off about their business. Zenith was tucked under Greaseball’s arm, watching Electra with his characteristic steady fascination.

“What time is it?” The Racer said, looking to the window. Bright morning sunshine was pouring in under the blinds.

“Uh, nearly eleven.”

Electra struggled to his feet at once. His head was throbbing and his mouth was as dry as sand. “Polestar,” he said. “I never sleep in.”

“You were pretty lit up last night,” Greaseball said. “I don’t know what you and the girls got up to, but you were… sloppy.”

“Did I say anything?” Electra asked, acute embarrassment making his stomach turn over.

“Nothing that I could understand. Krupp put you to bed.”

Electra rushed to his mirror, and flinched at the sight of his reflection. His hair was a mass of crimson frizz and glitter. His makeup was running in vibrant streaks. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.

“When did Mercury get here?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.

“A half-hour ago, maybe? Your team’s keeping him entertained.”

“I need to…  _ wash _ .”

Greaseball followed behind Electra to the common washroom, where Electra hurriedly removed his remaining makeup. He did not have the time or energy to properly shampoo and condition his hair, so he combed the glitter out and smoothed it as best he could. Greaseball, who had done a good job of staying out of the way, at last intervened to hand him a glass of water. Electra drank it down in a matter of seconds.

“This is why I don’t drink,” he said as they left the washroom.

The commons were unusually busy for this hour; Mercury tended to draw a crowd. Electra caught sight of the components, clustered near the central hearth. They had formed a semi-circle as they were wont to do. At the center, in a calculated position where the sun lit up his vibrant colors, was a Racer with a high turquoise crest. He was chatting with the coaches; they were drawn to him as if by some magnetic force. He was speaking loudly, his high voice carrying pleasantly in the hollows of the room. He was gleaming, glimmering and youthful.

“Mercury,” Electra called, approaching the little throng.

Mercury turned to look for the source of the call, his luminous eyes landing almost immediately on Electra. Electra was at that moment acutely aware of how haggard he must look. Nonetheless, a smile spread across Mercury’s sculpted-bronze face.

“Mamma!” He exclaimed. He skated past the admiring coaches and maneuvered effortlessly to Electra’s side. At once, he was throwing his arms around his mother, burying his face in Electra’s shoulder.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I’d have time to stop, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Electra kissed Mercury’s warm cheek. “That’s alright, honey. I was out a little late last night.”

“Auntie Pearl told me.” Mercury leaned back a bit to fix Electra with a meaningful stare. “How is everything?”

“Just fine,” Electra said, although even he heard the brittleness in his voice. “Perfectly alright.”

Mercury wrinkled his nose in that peculiar way that meant he did not believe Electra in the least. “We’ll talk later. In the meantime, where is my little blueberry cupcake? I miss him so bad.”

Greaseball, who had remained at a respectful distance from Electra and Mercury, took his cue to approach. Immediately, Mercury was squealing over Zenith, reaching out to take the child from Greaseball’s arms. He spared the diesel a kiss on the cheek--but they had never been close. Zenith, meanwhile, was smiling hugely at Mercury. Mercury cooed and nuzzled him.

“What brings you through?” Greaseball asked.

“I’m on a circuit right now,” Mercury answered. “I just raced in Washington. I have one here tomorrow. I split for a while to visit.”

“Who are you with?” Electra asked.

“Bright and Amour. They told me to say hello from them.”

Electra smiled. “Is it cold out there?”

“Freezing. Can we go to your room?”

Electra led the way back to the alpha’s quarters. The components followed at a distance, knowing that Electra and Mercury needed some time alone.

“You aren’t  _ perfectly alright _ ,” Mercury said as soon as the door had shut behind them. He set Zenith on the bed, then rolled to the window to peer out at the yard beyond. “You forgot how well I know you.”

Electra twisted his hair around his finger. “What makes you think I’m not alright?”

“I’ve never in my life seen you hungover.”

Electra sighed. “There’s a lot going on.” He glanced at Zenith, who had rolled onto his back and was playing with his tiny skate. “Zeezee’s deaf. I didn’t realize.”

“ _ Deaf? _ ” Mercury echoed.

“In one ear, and partially in the other.”

“Well, that’s no big deal, is it?”

Electra let out a wavering breath. “No. But I’m his mother, and I didn’t realize.”

Mercury shrugged. “It happens. Do you think that makes you a bad parent?”

“No! I just feel terrible about it.”

“He’s not hurt, is he? Do you think he knows the difference?”

Electra settled on the bed by Zenith, watching him play idly. He shook his head.

“That’s not all, is it?” Mercury went on, fixing Electra with his cool silvery gaze. “There’s something else bothering you. Is everything alright with you and GB?”

“Of course,” Electra answered at once. “Never better. He’s wonderful with Zenith, and he gets along so well with my team. He treats me like a princess.”

Mercury cocked his head. Electra was struck by the beauty of his second child, from large, expressive eyes to his slender neck, then on to his graceful hands. His fingernails, as always, were filed to needle points and painted, this time a vibrant red.

“But…” Mercury prompted. He was astute, Electra had to give him that.

“I don’t know that I belong here,” Electra said. “I feel so out of place.”

Mercury studied him for a moment longer. Then, with a sigh, he skated to the bed and settled down beside Electra. He reached out with enormous care and took a lock of Electra’s hair into his hand. As he stroked it, he clucked his tongue.

“Look at you, Mamma,” he said, “I’ve never seen you look like this before. When was the last time you got a facial, or had your hair colored?”

“It’s been a while,” Electra answered. “They don’t do that here. The concept is unfamiliar to them.”

“So?”

Electra dropped his eyes. “I don’t want them to think I’m the same stuck-up brat I used to be.”

Mercury let out a slow breath. “Have you considered that you’re trying so hard to fit in with them that you’ve lost track of who  _ you  _ are?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mamma. We’re not like them. I know you think I sound like an elitist when I say it, but we were built for different purposes. We grew up being groomed and dressed up to look our best, because we’re performers. It’s in our blood. It doesn’t matter if it’s familiar to them. It’s familiar to us.”

As he spoke, Mercury licked the tip of his finger and swiped a bit of smudged mascara from the corner of Electra’s eye. Electra almost laughed at the absurdity of this role-reversal. He grabbed Mercury’s wrist, then leaned in to touch his nose to his child’s. “Why do I feel like you’ve forgotten which of us is the mother?”

Mercury giggled and shrugged. “I guess I’m just feeling maternal.” He got to his feet. “For good reason. This is my last circuit, then I’m taking off for a year. I’m ready for a baby.”

Electra smiled. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure. I finally understand how you were feeling when you were trying to conceive Zenith.” He gave the baby a fond glance over his shoulder. “Anyway. Let’s go grab something to eat. You’re horribly pale.”

“Alright, but only if you promise to stop trying to mother me.”

Mercury smirked. “No promises.”


	10. Nov 11 -- Cinnamon

Passing Electra, Greaseball caught an unfamiliar scent. Typically Electra smelled of bubblegum or cotton candy or some other soft, sweet thing; Greaseball had come to be deeply soothed by the saccharine aroma. But at this moment, as Electra sidled past him with a tiny smirk, he smelled altogether different. There was something warm and spicy clinging to the air around him. Greaseball’s mouth began to water. Instantly he was longing to kiss the tender curve of his partner’s neck and rest his hands on that narrow waist.

Before he could reach out to grab a hold of the Racer, however, Electra had vanished--off, no doubt, to lounge about with his components and gossip in hushed voices. Greaseball let out a rattle of frustration, but did not pursue him.

His day at work was consumed with a steady stream of images: Electra laid out on their bed, supple and demure; Electra bathing, pouring handfuls of water over his lithe back and flat belly; Electra kneeling in front of him, watching him through those long lashes and smiling that arch smile. What all these visions had in common was that smell, filling Greaseball’s nose and throat with cloying spice. It was as delicious as it was distracting; the diesel shook himself several times, attempting to dislodge the images from his brain, but each time was only marginally successful. Eventually he gave in to the fantasies, letting the real world take a back seat for the afternoon.

At last, the sun was sinking below the western horizon. The air, which had for the day been brisk, turned frigid. The day crew began to return home, tired and ready for a night’s rest, while Greaseball inwardly lamented his neglected duties.

“Tomorrow,” he said. A little alone-time with Electra tonight would clear his head.

Back in the engine house, Greaseball found the Racer feeding Zenith. He settled nearby, having no choice but to wait. The smell was strong and heady here. Electra spared him an occasional glance, smiling just the way he had in Greaseball’s frustrated fantasies. But his attention was, for the moment, on Zenith.

When the child had finished his meal, Electra gave him one last cuddle before handing him off to Wrench for a bath. Finally, he was free for Greaseball’s conquest. The diesel got to his feet and fairly snatched Electra, hands gripping his waist and mouth going at once to his ear. Electra giggled and shrugged him away.

“You’re tickling me,” he said, batting his eyelashes.

“Why do you smell so good?” Greaseball replied.

Electra laughed. “I’m trying a new perfume. What do you think?”

“What’s in it?”

“Oh, a few things. Saffron, cinnamon, clove…”

“It’s the cinnamon,” Greaseball responded. “It smells amazing.”

Electra laughed again, drawing his fingertips down the outside of Greaseball’s arms. “I thought you’d like it.”

Greaseball withdrew for a breathless moment to admire Electra’s proud face. The Racer’s deep brown skin glowed in dimness, flawlessly smooth. His lips were parted slightly, inviting a kiss. Greaseball obliged him. As he pressed their mouths firmly together, Electra let out his characteristic happy whir. Greaseball felt pleasant static course into him at every point of contact. Eventually he let the touch of his lips roam, finding Electra’s ear, then the soft skin behind it. Here, the scent was strongest, almost overpowering. Greaseball convulsively held Electra tighter, closer. Electra moaned.

“Bedroom?” He asked softly, his graceful fingers tracing circles on Greaseball’s upper back.

Greaseball grunted in response--breathing heavy, now, he fell back to let Electra lead the way.


	11. Nov 13 -- Indulgent

Thick clouds rolled in overnight, pelting the yard with icy rain that sent even the most resolute to shelter. The engine house, spacious as it was, became crowded with those seeking a warm, dry resting spot. Electra emerged from the alpha’s quarters, intent upon taking up a position by the hearth to feed Zenith, and found there were no spots to be had. Carriages and engines alike were huddled around the fire, some of them still glittering with precipitation. Electra sighed and retreated.

The next best place was the common kitchen, which had a smaller hearth and a plentiful supply of snacks. Electra arrived here and was relieved to find it empty. He made for a spot at the table, with his back to the hearth. The fire was low, but warming, and with Zenith cuddled in his arms, he at once began to feel sleepy. He let his eyes drift shut.

It seemed he had only been asleep a moment when someone was gently shaking him awake. Electra opened his eyes and looked around blearily to find Krupp standing over him.

“ _ Liebling _ ,” he said. “Something came in the post for you.”

Electra glanced at the small package Krupp was profferring. “Who’s it from?”

“It doesn’t say.”

Electra took the package in his free hand, glancing down at Zenith. The child was peacefully asleep and did not stir at Electra’s movement.

After a moment of fiddling with the string tying the package shut, Electra said, “Would you open it for me, old man?”

Krupp obliged, unfastening the string with immense care before meticulously unwrapping the coarse brown paper.

Inside was a red box, about a foot long and half as wide. It was covered with plush-looking velvet, and on the lid was an insignia in delicate gold script. Electra studied the box a moment, now thoroughly confounded as to what could be inside.

“I didn’t order anything,” he said.

“Perhaps it is a gift,” Krupp replied.

“But from who?” Electra considered the possibilities: there were his friends at Sunnyside, and of course his beloved brother Leap Year, but he could not imagine why they would not have addressed a gift from themselves.

Electra nodded to Krupp, who lifted the lid of the box duly. Electra felt his own face light up at the contents. The box was filled with chocolates, neat rows of bite-sized morsels in a rainbow of colors and shapes.

“Ah,” Krupp said, as if he had solved the mystery. “Your favorite.”

“It must be someone who knows me very well.” Electra smiled indulgently. “And someone who knew they would have to sneak these to me. Wrench would never allow me to eat so many  _ empty calories _ .”

“Would you like to try one?”

“The square one with the gold leaf.”

Zenith stirred at that moment, stretching and yawning before cuddling more firmly against Electra’s chest and dozing back off. Electra whirred lovingly, taking immense care not to disturb the baby further as he freed his hand. Krupp selected the chocolate Electra had indicated and placed it in Electra’s palm. Electra studied the sweet for a moment.

“Very beautiful,” he said. “These must have been quite expensive.”

“Certainly worth it,” Krupp replied. “I would imagine.”

Electra brought the candy to his lips, watching Krupp from the corner of his eye all the while. He had known the old guard long enough that he saw through the veneer of stoicism Krupp put on. Krupp was all but breathless with anticipation.

Electra bit into the chocolate, and let his eyelids flutter with pleasure at the taste. It was filled with soft, salty caramel that melted away in his mouth--his favorite kind.

“Any good?” Krupp asked, when Electra had swallowed the bite.

Electra nodded. “Perfection. Whoever sent this has very good taste.” Looking back to the box, he said, “That one’s dark chocolate. You have it.”

Krupp did not argue. This had been their tradition for many years, after all; their tastes were opposite, so a box of chocolates always went well shared between them.

“I was afraid,” Krupp said after a while, “that you and I would grow apart after we moved here.”

Electra almost laughed at the thought, until he saw that Krupp was quite serious. Instead, he reached out with his free hand to stroke Krupp’s jawline. “Banish the thought,” he said. “No one could ever replace you.”

Krupp allowed himself a smile, his dark eyes gleaming. Then, wordlessly, he reached to select another candy from the box, holding it to Electra’s lips.


	12. Nov 14 -- Shiver

It had been raining for nearly 48 hours. It was coming down in icy sheets, and a wind had come up that drove the droplets with such force against the windows that it sounded as though the engine house was being pelted with pebbles. It made enough of a racket that Electra found himself laying awake, face buried in his pillow. He had been restless all day, longing to be outdoors in the fresh air, but kept at bay by the frigid rain. Now he felt half-mad, itchy and unable to find a comfortable position. He heaved a sigh and rolled over once more.

The rest were fast asleep. At his back, Purse was cuddled into his pillows and all but dead to the world. Opposite him, Greaseball was snoring away. Zenith was sprawled on the diesel’s chest, equally peaceful. Beyond, Volta and Joule were tangled together, as usual. Wrench and Krupp were soundly asleep on opposite sides of the arrangement. So Electra was alone in the darkness, hopelessly restless.

The wind picked up, rattling the window panes. There was enough of a gap between the window and the sill that a draft slipped in, sending a shiver up Electra’s spine. With a groan, he grabbed a handful of blanket and pulled it roughly over his head. He shut his eyes and let out a deep breath, hoping that sleep would overtake him. But he was  _ cold _ . It was a sort of cold that no amount of blankets would relieve--it was as if the breath of winter had crept into his bones while he laid, and he would never get warm again.

He curled himself into a miserable ball under the covers. He brought his knees to his chest, assuming a fetal position in the hope that it would be more comfortable. For a moment, he felt some relief and almost rejoiced at the hope that he might doze off. But the windows rattled and another breeze blew. The chill found every inch of him as easily as if he’d had no covers at all. Curling up tighter yet, Electra gave a sob of frustration. He was no stranger to insomnia--it was a curse of his people. High energy made them at home on the tracks, but nervous and wracked with anxiety in all other aspects of life.

Ten minutes dragged by, each tick of the old analog clock on the wall echoing in Electra’s skull. He counted them, marvelling at the length of the silence between each click, until he had reached six hundred. Then, reaching his wits’ end, he threw back the covers and crawled clumsily from the bed.

There was a cabinet by the door where Wrench kept all her supplies. In it, he knew, was the bottle of tablets she kept for him, in the case that he had an especially severe panic attack. They were strong enough to force him into a sort of dreamy trance, where nothing in the world mattered. He could sleep, then, ignorant of the cold and the rattling window.

He had reached the cabinet and had barely clicked it open when a hand closed around his wrist. He started hard, letting out a gasp.

“What are you up to?” Wrench asked, her eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“I need a pill,” Electra answered. “I can’t sleep.”

“I’ve told you, you are not to dose yourself without my express permission. It’s dangerous.”

“Just one.”

She sighed. “You don’t need one, El. What you need is a cuddle.”

He eyed her carefully. Wrench was not one to offer cuddles--if he wanted a hug, he usually had to force it upon her. She was only wont to doting upon him when he was ill.

“I’m not getting sick,” he said firmly.

“No, I didn’t think so. Sometimes you just need a cuddle.”

He smoothed his hair convulsively. He had all but worked it into a knot with all his tossing and turning.

“Come,” Wrench said. She guided him back to the bed, easing herself down at Volta’s side. “It’s been too long since we cuddled.”

Electra gave himself a shake, still wondering at Wrench’s uncharacteristic tenderness. He lowered himself beside her, nestling into the curve of her body as he had done a million times since he was a child. He had grown a great deal; now he was a foot taller than Wrench and scarcely fit under her arm. Nonetheless, he was intensely grateful for her warmth.

She drew the blanket over them as Electra wriggled into a comfortable position, his head resting on Wrench’s generous breasts. Wrench let out a soft breath. Electra felt her fingers on his back, drawing gentle circles between his shoulder blades. “Is that better?” She asked.

Electra’s eyelids were already growing heavy. He mumbled an affirmation, pressing his ear directly over Wrench’s heart. Within minutes, sleep had overcome him.


	13. Nov 15 -- Pumpkin

“That’s it, honey,” Dinah said, her voice full with the gentle encouragement of a mother. “All that flour goes in the bowl, and leave the rest aside.”

Electra did as he was commanded. He trusted Dinah totally in this regard; she was a talented baker, after all, and he was most decidedly not.

“I like a homemade crust,” the carriage said, smiling sweetly. “That way, we can put our own spices in. Add half a teaspoon each of sugar, ginger, and cloves.”

“...Cloves?” Electra asked, looking at the jars of spices Dinah had carefully set out before them.”

“The dark brown one in the middle.”

Electra clumsily measures out a teaspoon of the strong-smelling powder and added it to the bowl. The sugar and ginger followed.

“Good!” Dinah encouraged. “How about some cinnamon?”

“Definitely. GB loves cinnamon.”

She handed him the jar. “A whole teaspoon, then.”

When he had done that, Dinah added a pinch of salt and said, “Okay, stir that all together. I’ll get the butter ready.”

Electra felt rather like a child, being commanded like this. But that was the price for Dinah’s help, he supposed. He would certainly never be able to pull this off on his own.

“I’ll take over with the butter,” Dinah said presently, pressing Electra gently aside. “It’s a lot of work, getting it mixed up. Besides, you’ve got to make the filling.”

Electra considered the remainder of the ingredients, arranged for his ease of access. “Tell me what to do.”

“Get those same spices I just told you, and mix them in that little bowl. When you’re done with that, get that container of pumpkin.”

Electra mixed the spices with more confidence this time. He held it under his nose to inhale the delicious aroma, and in the process got a lungful of powdered ginger. He spent several minutes coughing while Dinah looked on in concern. When he had recovered, eyes streaming and throat burning, Electra said, “Okay. What’s next?”

“A couple of the girls back home helped me prepare this pumpkin,” Dinah said, holding out a container of orange paste. “I need you to mix it with the eggs, in that big bowl.”

“Can do.”

Still wheezing, he emptied the container into the large bowl and then contemplated the eggs.

“Do you need me to crack them?” Dinah asked. “They can be tricky.”

“That’s alright, I should like to think that I can manage a couple of eggs.” Electra took the first into his hand, rolling it to and fro for a moment. “I just… smack it on something?”

“Gently! Just hard enough to crack the shell.” Dinah indicated the countertop. “Use the edge.”

With enormous hesitation, Electra tapped the egg on the countertop. He examined it, and found that he had not made even a dent in the shell. So he tapped a little harder--too hard, it would seem, as the egg burst open and left him with its viscous innards running down his arm.

“Ew,” he said. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Dinah said. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Electra shook the mess he had made into the trash bin while Dinah cracked the eggs. “Go ahead and stir those in,” she said. “Then add the spices. I’ll roll out the dough.”

Stirring, Electra could do. Soon he had the pumpkin whipped into a fine-looking filling while Dinah busied herself with the dough.

“Thanks for coming over,” the Racer said at length. “I wanted to do something nice for GB and the components. But as you can probably tell, baking really isn’t my thing.”

“It’s no problem, sweetie,” Dinah answered. “It’s nice to get out sometimes. Plus, Cherry and Zenith really seem to like each other.” She considered for a moment, then went on, “What are you going to do about his hearing?”

“Wrench ordered a hearing aid for him,” Electra replied. “She doesn’t think anything will help with the ear he’s fully deaf in, but it will help with the other. I want to teach him sign language, too.”

“That would be great, Lex. We can all learn.”

Dinah laid the crust into a pie pan, delicately crimping the edges. Electra looked on in wonder.

“Alright, let’s have that filling now,” the Carriage said. “And if anyone asks, you made it all by yourself.”


	14. Nov 16 -- Turquoise

“Pearl,” Greaseball said, affecting a cajoling tone. “I need your help with something.”

Pearl twisted a lock of candy-pink hair around her finger. “What for?”

“I need a present for Electra. And you’re a girl.” Greaseball cleared his throat. “He likes girly things.”

Pearl rose from her resting spot--she had been reclined on a floor cushion, enjoying the mid-autumn sunshine, when Greaseball had found her. She smoothed her hair and smiled pleasantly. “What were you thinking?”

“That’s just the thing,” Greaseball responded. “I got no idea. Something really pretty and… and thoughtful, I guess.”

Pearl considered him with gleaming eyes. “If you want something thoughtful… maybe you ought to think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

The carriage sighed, smoothing her skirt. “What do you think Electra would like as a gift?”

“Well, he has a lot of stuff. There’s nothing I could buy him that he doesn’t already have.”

“There has to be  _ something _ ,” Pearl answered, motioning for Greaseball to follow her as she started towards the door. But as she went, it was clear that she was considering what the diesel had said. “Now that I think about it, G,” she said as they reached the green, “I really can’t think of anything Lex doesn’t have.”

“I’m telling you,” Greaseball said. “I’ve been driving myself crazy for days.”

“Could you make something? I know I’d love it if somebody made me a gift. A drawing, or a piece of jewelry!”

This was no comfort to Greaseball. “I don’t think I’d be any good at making something. I’m not creative. It’d come out ugly.”

Pearl glanced at him over her shoulder, scrunching up her nose as though the effort of wracking her brain was physically exerting her. Then, Greaseball saw a light come on. “Hang on,” she said. “I think I’ve got it.”

Greaseball watched her expectantly.

“We’ll have to go into the city,” Pearl went on. “I know the perfect place. We can go together.”

“Hang on, can’t you just tell me?”

Pearl pouted. It was almost as impressive a pout as Electra’s, Greaseball mused. “I never get to go into the city,” she said. “But if you’re there to keep me safe…”

Greaseball let out a breath, knowing very well that Pearl would never give up whatever idea she had had without his cooperation. “Alright,” he said. “But we have to be quick. I don’t want Electra suspecting anything.”

\---

The place Pearl had promised was a small, unassuming shop on a side street not far from the yard. Its dingey exterior gave no hint as to what may be sold inside, and Pearl still had not given up her plan to Greaseball. So it was with some hesitation that he followed her into the shop.

The room they had stepped into was dusty and cluttered. A few dim incandescent bulbs illuminated stacks of books, glass bottles and jars, and hundreds of unlabeled boxes. There was a long glass countertop, behind which stood a figure who was watching them carefully as they made their way carefully through the shop. Greaseball balked. It was not often that he encountered those of other species, and the shopkeeper was clearly not rail-folk. Pearl, however, seemed undaunted.

“Hi there,” she said, putting on her characteristic sunny smile. “We’re looking for a gift for his boyfriend.”

“What sort of a gift did you have in mind, Miss?” The shopkeeper replied.

Pearl looked almost devious as she glanced to Greaseball. “We were hoping to find a pet. Do you carry those?”

The shopkeeper looked thoughtful. “What size?”

“Something small and cute. Maybe a rock sprite?”

“Ah, yes. We’ve got plenty of those.” The shopkeeper came around the counter and motioned for the pair to follow. He led them to a large case with a glass top, which he lifted. Greaseball peered inside, finding the interior of the case divided into many subsections. Each subsection was occupied by a tiny creature, each with a long serpentine body covered with colorful scales. They stirred as the shopkeeper perused his stock, lifting small heads to watch him. Greaseball had seen a million rock sprites in his life--he had even kept a few himself, as a youngster--but never any as exquisitely pretty as these.

The shopkeeper selected a sprite, lifting it carefully from its home. It was coal-black from head to tail, shining in the low light. Pearl looked to Greaseball. “Maybe one with more color.”

The next creature the shopkeeper lifted was a vibrant red, its body covered with gleaming crystals. Greaseball frowned a little. “Do you have something cuddly?”

The shopkeeper considered this. Then, he moved decisively to a compartment containing a soft blue creature, not totally unlike the color of Electra’s own skin. It nestled in his hand amiably.

“Turquoise,” the shopkeeper said. “Very friendly.”

“That’s the one,” Greaseball said. “We’ll take it.”

\---

Pearl stuck around long enough for Greaseball to present Electra with his gift. There was a lot of delighted squealing from the Racer, who proclaimed that he had never had a pet before. Greaseball looked on happily while Electra cuddled the tiny creature, then let it coil itself around his wrist where its vibrant color could best be admired. He was feeling quite satisfied with himself when he glanced to Pearl and realized that she was staring at him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Can I talk to you alone?”

He followed her from the common room to the more secluded kitchen. “What did you wanna talk about?” He asked.

“I just wanted to know how you fell in love with Electra.” Pearl looked almost embarrassed as she said this.

Greaseball was caught off guard. “Well,” he began. “I guess it was after he had Arc. I liked him a lot before that, of course. But something about seeing him so vulnerable like that made me realize, I’d do anything he needed me to. Why do you ask, anyway?”

“I guess I’m just nervous,” Pearl replied. “All this time, and I still haven’t met anyone I feel that way about.”

Greaseball smiled sympathetically. “Give it time, honey. You’re still young.” He patted her silky hair fondly, and she laughed. “If I had to give you some advice, I’d say do what I did and go outside your comfort zone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, nobody would have figured that I’d end up with somebody like Lex. We couldn’t be any more different. Maybe you just gotta try something you didn’t think you liked.”

Pearl looked thoughtful, wringing her hands. “I guess you’re right. Maybe I’m a little too picky.”

Greaseball grinned. “Maybe just a little, sweetheart.”

Pearl went on her way; Greaseball returned to Electra, who was still cheerfully cooing to his new pet. “What’d Pearl want?” He asked as Greaseball settled beside him.

“Oh, she was just asking for some advice.”

“From  _ you _ ?” Electra replied.

Greaseball nudged him, smiling. “Hey, now. Sometimes I know what I’m talking about.”


	15. Nov 17 -- Midnight

Zenith was refusing to sleep. Electra could not blame him; earlier today, Wrench had received a package, in which was the hearing aid she had ordered. Electra had held the child still while Wrench clipped the tiny device onto his ear. “This is just to test out,” the medic said. “When he gets a bit older, we’ll see about a permanent implant.”

She switched the device on, and since then Zenith had been wide-eyed, restless, taking in every sound he had been deprived of until now. He heard the wind whistle outside and the chatter of those gathered in the common room. He could hear Electra clearly for the first time, and stared in wonder whenever his mother spoke. Moreover, he had become fascinated by the sound of his own voice--he had spent hours cooing and babbling for his own pleasure, although Electra had not coaxed him into any real words yet.

Now, it was well past the child’s bedtime. He was sitting up in Krupp’s lap, wide awake. Electra had given him his meal for the evening, and Wrench had bathed him. Typically, he would be fast asleep at this hour, but it was clear that he was far too interested in all the new sounds around him to be tired. He turned his head to each person that spoke, watching them with mouth slightly ajar. Electra had found it perfectly adorable for the first hour or so; now he was ready for bed himself.

“You could try a lullaby,” Purse suggested. “That always worked with Mercury.”

Electra shook his head. “I think I have a better idea.” He gathered Zenith from Krupp’s lap, kissing the child’s face. “Come here, my little pumpkin seed,” he said. “It’s story time.”

Zenith made a small, high sound as he nestled into Electra’s chest, but did not protest at being held so tightly. 

“I’ll tell you the story my grandmother used to tell me,” Electra said, settling comfortably on the bed, “about your great-great-grandparents.”

Zenith turned his silver eyes on Electra, watching him with all that characteristic intensity. Electra smiled.

“Once upon a time,” he began grandly, “a long, long time before you or I were born, there was a beautiful Racer named  _ Paonne _ . He was a French Racer, and his name meant  _ peahen _ , because he was a very nice blue color.” Electra repeated all the words that Tango, his paternal grandmother, had recited to him over and over. This was his favorite story to be told.

“Paonne was the greatest Racer in all of France, maybe even all of Europe,” he went on, watching Zenith’s face. The child was enraptured, his eyes glassy. “And not only was Paonne beautiful and talented, he was also gentle and kind. He had many admirers and suitors. But he didn’t want any of them. He was very picky.”

“Sounds like someone else we know,” Purse said. 

Electra smirked before going on, “One summer night, there was a big storm. It rained for hours and hours, and at midnight, there was the biggest clap of thunder you ever heard. Everyone in the engine house was startled, and went to the window to see. When they looked outside, there was a figure standing in the dark, looking for shelter. But it wasn’t a Racer. This was a lightning spirit--he was the tallest, handsomest thing Paonne had ever seen. So they brought him in out of the rain and gave him a place to rest. Paonne said hello to him, and they became friends. In the morning, the lightning spirit was still there, and he told him his name-- _ Le Tiret _ .”

Electra looked up to find the components watching him raptly. Zenith, meanwhile, had begun to blink sleepily.

“Paonne and Le Tiret fell deeply in love,” Electra said, giving Zenith a quick peck on the cheek. “Le Tiret decided to stay in the engine house with the Racers. Soon after that, Paonne had a baby. His name was Azur, your great-grandfather. For a while, all three were very happy. But as time went on, Le Tiret began to miss his home. He didn’t belong in an engine house, of course, but instead with his own kind, flying with the thunderstorms.”

Zenith sucked his hand.

“Paonne and Le Tiret made a deal. For the summer, when all the thunderstorms happen, the pair would live in the wild and travel with the storms. In the winter, they would return to the engine house so Paonne could race. And that’s how their baby grew up, with a foot in both worlds. That’s why we’re a wild family.” He grinned, watching Zenith’s eyes flutter and his head loll against his chest. “It’s also why we’re the fastest in the world. We’re part lightning spirit.”

Zenith yawned, laying his head on Electra’s chest.

“Well done,” Krupp said. “That worked like a charm.”

“It’s a boring story,” Electra replied, lowering his voice. “The real version is much more exciting. But we’ll wait until he’s a bit older for that.”

He glanced to the clock. It was nearly midnight--the latest Zenith had ever been awake. Electra brought him to the bed, tucking him in beside Purse before heading off to get ready for bed. He washed his face and tied his hair up, then changed from his sweater into something more comfortable. He heard Greaseball enter, closing the door loudly behind him, and flinched.

“Keep it down,” he hissed, “you’ll wake Zenith.”

“Sorry,” Greaseball replied. “He got his hearing aid today?”

“Yes, and it’s working very well. I had to tell him that fake story about my great-grandparents to get him to sleep.”

Greaseball smiled. “Oh yeah, that one. You never did tell me what really happened.”

Electra glanced at the bed, which was looking more inviting by the second. “It’s almost tomorrow, G. I’ll tell you then.”


	16. Nov 18 -- Quilt

Most of Electra’s belongings had been unpacked and sorted into their respective places around Greaseball’s quarters, save one small box which Electra kept tucked under the bed. Greaseball had noticed it a few days ago, and had been insatiably curious about its contents ever since.

“It’s private,” Electra had told him firmly when he’d asked. “Leave it alone.”

This, of course, did nothing at all to allay Greaseball’s interest in the box. Given the things that Electra  _ did  _ let him see, Greaseball was struggling to imagine what could possibly too private, too personal to share.

He prodded the components. None of them budged. “If Electra told you he didn’t want you to see it, what makes you think we’d show you?” Volta asked, giving Greaseball her signature severe look.

“You don’t have to show me,” Greaseball coaxed. “Just tell me what’s in there.”

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

Greaseball shrugged, her frosty glare making him itch. “I didn’t think Lex kept anything secret from me.”

He got no further with Purse, and he did not dare to even ask Wrench or Krupp. Joule was his last hope.

“I dunno what’s in there,” she said, cocking her head. “I thought we unpacked everything. Maybe it’s a present for you.”

Greaseball had not considered this, having already convinced himself that it was something a little more scandalous than a hidden holiday gift. But for now, he supposed, he would have to subsist on that answer.

When Electra returned home, having spent his day babysitting on the green, he noticed Greaseball’s unease at once. “Are you still thinking about that box?” He asked, planting his hands on his hips.

“Sorry,” Greaseball said at once. “I’m just curious.”

“You’re a child.” Electra sighed, then motioned for him to follow. “I might as well show you, if you’re going to keep bothering me about it.”

Greaseball lingered at the foot of the bed while Electra knelt to retrieve the box. It was an unglamorous wooden container, quite unlike all of the other luxurious belongings the Racer had unloaded upon Greaseball’s quarters. The lid looked as if it had once been painted, but now it was left bare, stained wood. There was a heavy-duty latch on the side, which Electra was struggling to undo.

“It’s a little sticky,” he said. “I don’t open it much.”

At last, the latch gave way. Electra rose and sat on the bed, patting the spot next to him. Greaseball joined him eagerly.

Electra opened the box and removed from it a parcel of fabric. He set the box aside and unfolded the fabric in his lap. It was a quilt, Greaseball realized, skillfully handmade. Patches of patterned fabric in a rainbow of colors were painstakingly stitched together with shining gold thread. It was a beautiful piece, and clearly preserved with extreme care.

Electra ran his hands over the blanket, lingering on a patch here and there. Greaseball glanced at his face and found him serene, his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly. At last, he spoke.

“My mother made this for me,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve had it since I was a newborn.”

Greaseball swallowed. He had heard the story of Electra’s mother, both from Wrench and Electra himself--Nova was the sensitive, beautiful Swedish Racer who had given birth to Electra while in America. They had been separated when Electra was very small, and had not seen each other since. Immediately, Electra’s loving touch on the quilt made sense.

“Sorry to be so secretive,” the Racer said now. “I’m just protective of it. I’d be wrecked if anything ever happened to it.”

Greaseball nodded in understanding, watching Electra turn his attention to the patches once more. “It’s beautiful.”

Electra abruptly bundled the quilt up, burying his face in it. “I swear, it still smells like Mamma,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Aw, Lex,” Greaseball said, reaching out to pat Electra’s back.

“I’m not sad,” Electra replied, laying the quilt flat once more. “I’m just remembering.”

Greaseball leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Electra’s cheek. “Thanks for showing me. And who knows, maybe you’ll see each other again someday.”

Electra gave a weak smile. “Maybe. Then I could introduce my mother to my dumbass boyfriend.”

Greaseball laughed, wrapping his arms tight around Electra and breathing in his soft, candy-sweet scent.


	17. Nov 19 -- Golden

Electra, shivering in the frigid wind, caught sight of Greaseball. He was standing at the top of a small hillock with his back to the Racer, watching over the inbound/outbound tracks. They were busy at this time of day, with consists from all over the Chicago area passing through en route to their destinations. Greaseball was a vigilant guardian; he was not wont to tearing his eyes from the yard. Thus, he did not notice Electra approaching.

“Greaseball,” Electra called as he neared. “Baby.”

Greaseball turned to look at him, smiling instantly. “Hey, sugar,” he said. Electra rolled close, tucking himself under Greaseball’s arm. “What are you doing out of the engine house?”

“I wanted to come see you,” Electra replied. “I never get to visit you at work.”

Greaseball went on grinning at him. “You’re gonna freeze.”

“I’ll be alright, as long as you’re keeping me warm.”

Electra slipped his arms around Greaseball’s waist, whirring with pleasure. The big diesel’s smoky smell comforted him immensely; he breathed a few big lungfuls and felt at peace.

On the western horizon, the Sun was a molten disc. The sky around it was a veritable rainbow of purple, magenta, and orange, the scudding clouds dyed peach and crimson. The light of the dying day gilded the world around the pair in soft golden.

“That reminds me,” Electra said, squirming out from under Greaseball’s arm to fish in the pocket of his sweater. “I got something for you.”

“For me?” Greaseball echoed. “Why?”

Electra shrugged as he produced a small black box, proffering it to his partner. “As a thank you for my little pet.”

Greaseball grinned, taking the box and turning it over in his big hands a few times. Electra, clinging to his shoulder, looked on in anticipation.

At last, Greaseball pried open the top of the box. Inside was a gold chain, brand new and polished to a mirror gleam. Electra looked immediately to Greaseball’s face, eager to see his reaction. 

The diesel raised his eyebrows, his dark eyes glittering. He opened his mouth to respond, then simply closed it again, smiling.

“Well?” Electra prompted at last. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Greaseball replied, meeting Electra’s eyes. “But why did you give this to me now? The Solstice isn’t until next month.”

“Well, it’s not a Solstice present,” Electra answered. “I gave it to you because you need a new chain.”

“I do?”

Electra furrowed his brow. “You’ve been wearing that chain since I met you. The clasp is broken, and it’s tarnished. This one is pure gold.”

The Racer reached around Greaseball’s neck, seeking the clasp of his old chain. Greaseball backed away, however, looking at Electra carefully.

“What are you going and buying me gold jewelry for?” He asked. “That must have been real expensive.”

Electra almost laughed. But it occurred to him, of course, that the residents at California Ave were not accustomed to the sort of luxury Electra had come to expect. To Greaseball, a pure gold chain must have seemed an exorbitant thing to be so casually gifted. Feeling acutely embarrassed, Electra withdrew. 

“I only wanted to say thank you,” he began, subdued. “I’ll send it back, if you don’t like it.”

“Hang on,” Greaseball replied at once. His hands flew to Electra’s face, cupping it gently. “I didn’t say that. It’s real nice.”

“Don’t keep it just to make me feel better, G.”

“I’m not. I was just surprised.” The dim amber light of dusk was playing on Greaseball’s features, giving him an almost benevolent glow. His eyes shone. “I guess I forget sometimes that you’re so generous with what you’ve got.”

Electra’s face grew warm. “It’s not like I don’t have enough to go around.”

Greaseball leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I never expected to have someone else taking care of me.”

“Well, you take care of me, too. In a different way.”

Greaseball chuckled. “That’s right. You would have froze to death on your own that first night, if I hadn’t found you.”

That said, Greaseball pressed the box into Electra’s hands. “Here, put it on for me.”

He turned so that Electra could unlatch his old chain, which he tucked away into the pocket of his vest. With extreme gentleness, Electra draped the new chain around Greaseball’s neck and fastened it.

“Okay,” he said, “let me look at you.”

Greaseball faced him once more, smirking.

“Well,” Electra said, feigning a swoon. “Aren’t you magnificent.”

Greaseball was clearly pleased, preening like a rooster. The chain gleamed as he ran his fingers over it, undoubtedly admiring the flawless metal.

“I love it,” the diesel said at length. “And I love  _ you _ .”

Electra smiled. “Well, you hardly need to remind me of that.”


	18. Nov 20 -- Sniffle

“I can’t be sick,” Electra said, bent over his vanity to examine his puffy eyes in the mirror. “I  _ never  _ get sick.”

Even as he spoke the words, another spell of dizziness came over him. His knees buckled; his fingers dug into the sides of the vanity to steady himself. He groaned.

“Come back to bed,” Wrench said, gently but firmly. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“It’ll pass,” Electra protested rather feebly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Wrench replied. “Bed. Now.”

With a rueful glance at his medic, Electra did as he was told and retreated back to the bed. As he laid, Wrench draped the heavy quilt over him, covering him up to his chin. She laid a hand on his forehead.

“You’re warm,” she said. “You probably caught something standing out in the cold all day.”

“What would you like me to do?” Electra retorted, grabbing handfuls of the quilt and pulling it tight around himself. “I have to babysit.”

“The others should really take into account that you are of a more delicate constitution. You aren’t used to these conditions.”

“The last thing I want is for them to treat me differently. I’m not a racer anymore.”

Wrench smiled indulgently at him. “You may not race anymore, Lex, but you will always be a Racer. And you are a more delicate breed than the others here. Perhaps you could watch the children indoors until it gets warm again.”

Electra was altogether too exhausted to continue arguing. He had gotten very little sleep, thanks to his stuffed-up nose and pounding headache. His sniffling had kept the rest awake, so everyone was fractious this morning.

“I’m going to get the whole yard sick,” Electra said. “I ought to be quarantined.”

“It’s a little cold, Electra,” Wrench responded sternly. “There’s no need for dramatics. Stay put, now, while I go fix you some tea.”

Electra did not need to be told twice. He cuddled into his pillow and watched the morning sunshine glimmer on the windowpane, contemplating his misery. He was alone here; Greaseball had left early to organize the day’s consists, while the remaining components had taken Zenith for some playtime with the yard’s other children. No one wanted to be around him at the moment, he supposed--not that he blamed them.

Wrench returned shortly with a mug of tea and a capful of red liquid. “This is for your headache,” she told him as she handed it over.

“Liquid, Wrench?” Electra replied. “Am I being that much of a baby?”

“It’s all we had.”

Electra downed the sickly sweet syrup, then reached for the tea to get the taste out of his mouth. The hot liquid was instantly soothing to his sore throat.

“I hate being cooped up like this,” he said at length. “I’m gonna go crazy staying in this bed all day.”

Wrench gave him an almost sympathetic glance. “The more you rest, the sooner you’ll be back to normal. Besides, most people would love an excuse to stay in bed all day.”

Electra sighed. When he had finished his tea, he bundled himself up once more and, with the aid of the liquid Wrench had given him, had soon drifted into dreamless sleep.

He was awakened by a soft weight on his chest, opening his eyes to find that someone had placed Zenith there. The child was watching him close, sucking his thumb.

“Hi, baby,” Electra said, then yawned enormously. “What have you been doing all day?”

“We had a little play-time with his friends,” Purse answered. “Then we had a run to the store to pick a few things up.”

Electra raised an eyebrow, laying back on his pillow once more. “Like what?”

“A new scarf and gloves for Mamma,” Purse answered, affecting a cooing tone as he pinched Zenith’s cheek. “That way he can stay warm while he’s babysitting, isn’t that right?”

Zenith giggled and shied away.

“We also picked up some ingredients for soup,” Purse went on, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Krupp should be in with it any time.”

“A new scarf  _ and  _ Krupp’s famous soup,” Electra said, almost dreamy at the thought. “Maybe I should get sick more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Arc - Electra and GB's only child together  
*Mercury - Electra's adult child with another father  
*Zenith - Electra's baby with another father


End file.
